


Shackles

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shackles from his past bind us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Please, don't leave. I love you."

His words fall into the silence of the room and shatter it into a million shards, freezing me as I sit on the edge of the bed, and I put my hands to my ears and close my eyes tight in an effort to shut them out—stupid, I know, the damage is already done.  
  
I feel the mattress dipping as he crosses the distance between us, and the warmth of his body envelopes me, gentle hands taking my wrists and pulling my hands down. "Please." he says again, his lips against my skin, and the pain in his voice batters at my resolve. I let myself relax back into him, sighing at my weakness and hating myself for it, even as my body responds to his closeness.

"Please, love, look at me." he begs, the brush of his hands on my skin as they caress up and down my arms and the velvet of his voice making my skin break out in goosebumps. I am not able to deny him; folding a leg under me, I half turn to face him, butterflies in my stomach as I lift my eyes to his, and he lets out the breath he was holding in a sigh, the worry lines around his eyes smoothing themselves out. "Thank you." he says quietly, bringing his hands to my face and stroking my cheekbones with his thumbs, "I'm sorry."

I close my eyes at his tender touch, trying to contain my tears. There is nothing I want more than to bask in the warmth of his love, to love him back with all that I am, for as long as I live. What's wrong with me? Why can't I be satisfied with what he is able to give me? And there's the rub, really, isn't there? I need to stop going down that track, it'll only end up hurting us both. Again.

I wish I knew how to take his pain away, how to stop being a selfish, greedy little bitch. But most of all I wish I knew how to free him from the shackles that bind us to his past without causing him irreparable damage.

"Don't." he whispers. His lips brush my forehead, and I can't bear the pain colouring his voice again as he goes on, "It's not your fault, my love, this is all on me." I rest my head on his shoulder, and he cradles me in his arms, love radiating through his skin like a physical thing, searing me to my core. Giving myself a virtual shake, I lift my head to look at him, and his sad smile makes my heart shrivel in my chest. I sigh again.

No, it's not all on him.

I raise a tentative hand to his face, and his eyes close as he leans into it, his stubble soft under my hand as he turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. "I love you, no matter what." I breathe out, almost inaudibly, but I know he's heard me, because his smile brightens, and suddenly all my petty issues melt away, because when he smiles he is like sunshine, banishing fear and pain with his radiance.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

I walk in through the door and drop the keys on the hall table, calling out to him as I hang up my coat and toe my shoes off. As I enter the lounge his eyes smile at me over the top of the book he's reading, his silent greeting more intimate and eloquent than any words: I'm home.

I smile at him as I walk past the sofa on my way to the bedroom and a change of clothes, allowing my hand to trail along his jaw, indulging my craving for his skin. Before I manage to walk away, though, he rests his head on the back of the sofa to look up at me, and his hand shoots out to grab mine, pulling me in for an upside down kiss.

Once he's done, with a brief flash of impish smile, he pulls again until I'm toppling over the back of the sofa, and I end up sprawled half way across him. "What was that for?" I ask, rearranging my legs to lie on the cushions and resting my head on his thigh. "I missed you." he answers quietly, threading his fingers through my hair, his touch light and tender. 

His matter of fact answer gives me pause, and I raise myself on an elbow so I can see him properly, "What's up, love?" With a shake of his head he pushes me back down gently, "Nothing." Ok, now I know something's up for sure, but I know better than trying to force it out of him. He'll tell me when he's good and ready, and not one second before, so I tell myself to stop worrying, and let his touch soothe me. 

We don't feel the need for words to clutter the comfortable silence, and after a few quiet moments I close my eyes, lulled by the quiet and the slow cadence of string-roughened fingertips lightly scratching my scalp. 

"You have a letter." I must have drifted off, because I am brought out of a barely there dream by his voice. There is an odd, off tone to it, and I'm instantly alert. I sit up and turn around to face him, and a look at his face has me pulling him into my arms and holding him to me as he clings like a frightened child.

I crane my neck and brush his hair away from his forehead so I can look at him, "What letter? What's wrong?" There is pain in his eyes, and that terrifies me, adrenaline pumping through my system until I can taste metal in my tongue. "It's from her." he says, his voice shaky.

I close my eyes, trying to hide from his pain, but that's the coward's way out. This is my mess, and I need to deal with it. "I'm sorry." I say, kissing his forehead. "I'm sorry." I say again, rocking him gently, my lips brushing his hairline, knowing that this reminder of my past has reopened a wound that has never really healed. "Where is it?" I ask him gently, and he points mutely towards the dining table.

With a light squeeze I let go of him, getting up, "I'd better see what this is about." I look at him, "Do you want to read it with me?" He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, so I walk over to the table and pick up the envelope addressed to me in her aggressively slanted handwriting. My hands shake as I open it and pull out the neatly folded sheet of paper, and the two paragraphs on the page jump out at me with the force of a battering ram. All my breath leaves me in a whoosh, and I sink bonelessly onto a chair. No. It can't be. 

Before I can re-read it, though, he's kneeling next to me, his hands holding mine, looking at me with a mixture of fear and concern, "What is it? What's wrong?" I stare at him through empty eyes. I consider lying. I consider burning the accursed letter and her words. I consider doing a runner so I don't have to see the hope in his eyes, knowing that I will be crushing it, hurting him again. But in the end my eyes focus on him and I hand him the letter.

My heart breaks at the play of emotion on his face: fear morphing into incredulity, replaced by a blaze of hope as his eyes leave the letter and he looks at me, "She wants a divorce?" The hope dies as he takes in my expression, chased away by disappointment and the pain that is always there, just below the surface.

"I can't." I whisper, hating myself.

 


End file.
